If I Should Ever Lose You
by storytellers
Summary: I finally caved in and wrote a Basil/Dorian. Once again movie based, filled with industrial amounts of drama and fluff and exploring what might have happened in the movie, not the book if Basil had a little more self-respect.


9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the novel OR the movie based on it. Poor me.

**Author's Note:** Yes, it's movie-based again. Yes, I finally caved in and wrote a Basil/Dorian. Yes, it starts with the kissing scene again, bear with me and wait for a few paragraphs before getting bored. Yes, the amounts of fluff are enough to cause asthma but, admit it, it's what most of us want to read anyway ;P

_**If I **__**Should Ever Lose You**_

_The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost.__  
__**Gilbert K. Chesterton**____  
_

His lips are on mine, the taste of expensive liquor mixing with a number of other intoxicating substances. Some of them I have probably never tasted before but that's no surprise. Dorian has always been a bringer of new experiences for me.

A shudder runs down my spine, warmth collecting in my stomach. My mind is about to disconnect. I feel like I am balancing on the edge of a very sharp razor and any moment now I will come toppling down.

And then the moment freezes.

What am I doing? Well done, Basil – you, the voice of propriety, loosing control at the worst possible moment. At a party, in a house filled primarily with whores and rich perverts. And with a very drunk Dorian Gray who is completely degrading you at the moment.

It may have been worth it if at least this was the Dorian I wanted. But I fell in love with the innocent boy, the good-natured, kind-hearted creature who mesmerized me with his simple beauty. The way he is seducing me now, for no reason other than to divert the conversation from the topic of the portrait, is completely at odds with everything I liked in the old Dorian.

No, this just doesn't make sense. I am older than him, superior in intellect. Why am I letting a rebellious youth wrap me and everyone else around his finger? Threat me condescendingly? Drag me down to the same low level?

No, this stops here. I will either overcome him now, and drag him back to the right path, or things will get completely out of hand…

Collecting all of my remaining composure, I pull away from the kiss.

"You know, Dorian, I think not. Whatever I may be, I am not one of your..."

I leave the sentence unfinished, reluctant to use the word 'whores'. I move to walk away but he blocks my path.

"I said I wanted to thank you for the portrait!" he says, half-angered, half-confused by my rejection.

"So write me a thank you note. Do you really believe I would be intimate with someone who tells me they want to use this intimacy as a kind of payment? You must have a lower opinion of me than I hoped. Besides, the portrait was a gift. It doesn't require any payment at all and certainly not this type. You want to keep it hidden, very well. It's yours to do whatever you like with. I don't believe I want it now anyway. It is a portrait of a person who only existed in my imagination. _It shows a lie_."

My voice has dropped to an angry hiss. It's my own foolishness and helplessness that enrages me so. At my last words he pales and stares at me. Perhaps I have managed to wound him. I resist the urge to apologize. If I really have reached him, it is for the best. He has been so cold lately…

I don't stay to contemplate his reaction. I collect my coat and leave the house in haste.

Once I'm outside, I breathe a sigh of relief. Dorian really is impossibly beautiful and my body still wants him. But I would not have the right to ask him not to listen to Harry if I myself were so quick to succumb to my desires. His body is not enough anyway – I want his mind, his attention, his love. And I will not get them by playing by his rules. Maybe I will not get them regardless but there is a great deal I can loose if I don't manage to control myself.

I go home and pour myself a glass of port. I pace the room, unable to relax. I resign myself to the fact that I will not get any sleep tonight.

It's not long before there is someone at the door and I open it to see Dorian Gray standing there. I stare at him in total bewilderment. I can't imagine what on Earth he is doing at my house at this late hour while he should be at his own party. Surely it cannot not have ended already – Dorian's parties normally last well into the small hours of the morning.

"Why did you leave?" he asks unceremoniously before I have even had the chance to invite him in. There is a strange urgency in the question and it sounds almost sulky. At least he seems more sober now.

"The situation was getting… rather awkward, Dorian," I answer.

"I can't give you the portrait," he stresses.

"I think we got that down. I said fine. I can't imagine why but I don't suppose it really matters. Although, if the picture has simply gotten damaged somehow…"

"Huh, damaged…"

Dorian chuckles darkly. I narrow my eyes and study him. I really cannot understand him these days. Something has happened, something that I have missed. Until now I have thought the only changes I saw in him were his growing thirst for pleasures and his newfound cruelty. But now I see that there is something troubling him as well.

Suddenly the protective instinct he used to stir in me during the early days of our acquaintance is back. Perhaps I have been too focused on my own feelings to notice that he doesn't really seem happy. Now I want to find out what is bothering him and fix it.

"Dorian, do come in. It's awfully rude of me to keep you at the door."

"Well, I thought you'd never notice," he says tastily but somehow I don't feel the sting of the remark. I may be imagining things but it seems to me now that he is hiding something behind his harshness.

He steps inside somewhat cautiously, as if he is afraid something may attack him. It all seems so strange. Only hours ago he looked so arrogant and bold and completely in control. Now the arrogance has melted down to slightly defensive abruptness.

Once inside I automatically offer him a drink out of politeness although I believe he has had quite enough for one night. He takes the glass but doesn't drink. Instead, he slowly turns it in his hand, catching the light with the rim. I wait for him to say something. He is, after all, here at his own initiative in the middle of the night and I have no idea why.

"I miss you," he says finally.

His voice is quiet and thoughtful and he seems to be talking more to the sloshing liquid than to me. I have no idea what he means. Despite that, for some reason that I cannot understand, his words seem to drop in my stomach like stones.

"I am right here, Dorian," I say just as quietly.

He looks up, almost startled. I want to close the distance between us and touch him. There's no lust in the thought this time. I just want to be near him.

He shakes his head as if to clear it and frowns.

"I can't remember what I felt like… before. It was only a year ago but I can't remember. Harry says every experience changes you and makes you more complete but what is the point if you can't remember the difference? I know I experienced things then in a way that I cannot experience them now and I don't recall the feeling. Some things are just… gone. And I don't know when they went away. I think… I didn't think I would miss you. I didn't think I would miss… me."

He looks really frustrated, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"Do you remember him? The old Dorian?"

"I will always remember him," I answer readily.

"What was he like?"

"You can see him on that portrait."

"No!" he says sharply.

Then he looks at me almost pleadingly.

"You said that the portrait showed a lie."

"Oh, Dorian, I didn't really mean that…"

"No, no, you're not supposed to say that!"

To my surprise, he jumps from his chair and in one swift movement he's kneeling in front of me, taking hold of my hands. His eyes are hard but there is something wild and desperate behind them. His grip is so tight it almost hurts.

"Say that you meant it! Say it, Basil. Say that this portrait shows a lie, that it does not show the real Dorian Gray!"

"But why do you want me to say that?"

His eyes are dark as they pierce me, almost black.

"Because nothing has ever left your mouth but the truth. Because if you say it, I may be able to believe it."

I don't understand him at all and I'm starting to think he has gone mad. Or perhaps it's just the alcohol. Even if he doesn't seem drunk, all the drinks could not have left his system so quickly. He is wrong too. I have told lies just like any other person. Most of them have been well-intended but that makes no difference. Either way, his eyes fixed on mine are demanding an immediate answer and I have to say something. Perhaps I should just say what he wants me to say but I find I really cannot lie to him when he is looking at me like that. That makes me stop for a moment to consider a real answer. I realize with relief that I can both speak my true mind and grant his wish.

"Very well, then," I say finally. "It's true that I don't think this picture shows the real Dorian Gray. A picture is not a living creature, however much the artist wants it to be. If it were so easy, I would paint another one of you and keep it with me always. But that would not be the same as you being here. Human beings are so complicated and they have so many colours in such exquisite shades that I'm afraid no artist will ever be able to capture it all on canvas. A picture, if it's really good, offers a glimpse at the subject's soul but a glimpse is all it is. Even if it's the truth, it's not the whole truth."

There is a moment of silence. His grip on my hands slowly loosens.

"Not the whole truth," he murmurs. "But what else is there? Can you tell me Basil? Can you tell me who I am? Sometimes people need to be reminded who they are, you see. But Harry only sees what he himself has crafted and I fear you may be the same. Do you see beyond the strokes of your brush, beyond the image your own mind shapes me into?"

I'm holding my breath. He is talking so quietly and I'm anxious not to miss a single word. Somehow I know this is important. It is not a game; it is not any scheme of his. It comes as a shock that this is the most honest I have seen him and that, yes, the boy from my memories has been a façade too. Even then there were secrets, shadows lurking beneath the surface. There were questions I never dared to ask and maybe I should have.

"I don't know if I know the real you, Dorian, although I really want to. But maybe I know the part you claim to have forgotten. The Dorian Gray I was so fond of was very fortunate. Not so much because he possessed such fantastic beauty but more because he was blessed with the gift of finding it around him. Everything was marvelous and exciting to him when he first arrived here. He smiled at the world and that was what made his company so pleasant and desirable. I watched him discover his new freedom and draw more pleasure form a cup of tea than Henry Wotton could from a whole month of mindless indulging. He was a child born of true love and, just like his parents, he cared little about money and social status. He looked at a poor actress and was able to see a lady."

Dorian looks away.

"Please, do not talk about Sybil. And I know you did not approve of her."

"I disapproved of her because of selfish reasons, Dorian, and I hope wherever she is, she will forgive me. But you were right to love her and right to stand before all of us and declare your love without fearing or caring what we would say."

"It all ended in tears," Dorian says coldly. "It always does. My parents were good people and they loved each other and me. What good did that do us? They left me here and do you know who they left me to? The Devil himself! I said I would nail my soul to his altar but it was already there, Basil, ever since I was a boy, he owned me! Did you know that?"

"I… saw the scars once. But he didn't own you, Dorian. And he doesn't now. It's all a matter of choice and every minute, every second a different one can be made. We learn our lessons and change our decisions accordingly. I myself have recently learned a lesson. You see, as an artist, I believed that beauty was above all else and I regret to say I may have helped Henry teach you the same. But I realize now that it is much less valuable than I had thought. That is a devastating discovery for an aesthete to make but it is true nonetheless. And necessary. I have been foolish and I have been unfair to you. You are so much more than a pretty face, Dorian, and I admit I hardly ever looked beyond. How I regret that now…"

Dorian frowns at this confession and stands up. He walks to the window, turning his back on me.

"I don't understand you, Basil. I can't decide if you are a very strong man or simply a coward. If I could find the answer to this little riddle, maybe I could figure myself out. But after tonight I am afraid you shall always remain a mystery."

I give an incredulous laugh.

"I? A mystery? My dear Dorian, I am one of the simplest men you will ever meet. What is it about me that you don't understand?"

"How can you live without so many of the pleasures the world offers? How can you always resist temptation? How can you always see good where there doesn't seem to be any? Is it because you are afraid to live life to the fullest, afraid of your own desires, or is it because you really do know better than Harry? He made me believe that a man could get anything he wanted once he realized there was nothing to stop him. And it seemed to be true. I have been getting my way with everything these days, Basil. Even with you. You wanted to object to the things I was doing but I could silence you with one look. Even when you did protest, you never did it loudly enough. I was sure I could do whatever I wanted with you. Right up to the moment you said no tonight. And I still can't figure out how you did it. No one ever says no. People I have never met before take so little convincing before they are willing to go wherever I may want to take them. With you I thought it would be even easier. I know you are in love with me, Basil, it's hard to miss. I thought I could play you like a tune on my piano."

I feel myself flush crimson. He turns around to look at me with curiosity in his eyes.

"How did you of all people resist?"

I try to swallow but my throat is dry. His brutal directness has caught me off-guard once again. But I am thankful, so thankful for my earlier decision to stop his advances. I know now that, had I given in, I would have lost any sort of respect or friendship that might still exist between us.

"That's just it, Dorian. I do… I do love you. And I also have some respect for myself. What you were trying to do was not good for you and it would have been very bad for me. You would have simply used me for fun, is that not true? Used me and left me. Do you have any idea what that would have done to me? It would have been easier to take if I thought you were intentionally trying to hurt me. But the thing is, Dorian, I think I simply do not matter to you. You do not care for me one way or another. And that is infinitely worse."

This time he is the one who looks taken aback by my frank accusation. But rather than angry or hurt, he looks thoughtful.

"I would miss you. If I should ever lose you, I mean. I don't think I would miss Harry. I know many people like him now. I myself am like him. But I don't know anyone like you. And I would miss you. That's why I came after you. I never really believed I could lose you until tonight and when you made me see it could happen, the thought was… disconcerting. Does that not mean that you do matter?"

I feel my resolve to be hard on him falter. This is possibly the nicest thing he has ever said to me, even if it sounds like he has just discovered it himself. Before I can say anything, he speaks again.

"If you know what I was about to do to you, you must really hate me."

"Oh, Dorian! I could never hate you!"

To my surprise he glares at me.

"But why? Just because you are you? Oh, Basil, why can't you at least once do something that would not be expected of you? You can't hate me because you are good and also because you love me. And you love me because I am beautiful. You are good and I am beautiful and that's all there is. If there was truly more inside of us, if we could defy our habits and nature, then why have I never seen you do it? The world has shown me that things are either black or white, that I have to be either you or Lord Henry. And being you means being always proper and predictable and _unhappy. S_o I chose to be Lord Henry but now I don't _know_ if I am happy! I should know, should I not? But I don't! So what the devil am I to do, Basil, when neither of you cares about anything more than making me your little protégé? Why did I even come here looking for answers? You don't know anything, do you? Anything at all! You are just a miserable man, leading a miserable life, pining after some silly ideal! You don't even love me for real, not me, just my face! All you want is a pretty boy to share your bed so it's not cold!"

Anger, hurt and guilt are fighting for dominance in my chest as I try to figure out if what he is saying is really true. It might be. But to my surprise the anger wins over before I can start feeling properly guilty. I shoot out of my seat and slap him hard across the cheek.

There is shocked silence as Dorian presses his palm to the side of his face. Then, to my utter surprise, he slowly sinks to the carpet, tears streaming down his cheeks. He suddenly looks like a small child and I feel completely confused. It is so impossible to keep up with his rapid changes of personality tonight! He has gone from an arrogant seducer to a petulant teenager to a cold and cruel philosopher to a raging lunatic to a crying little boy in the space of a few monutes!

Guilt soars through me again and I immediately think how unacceptable and unforgivable my behavior is. But then again, nothing is normal tonight. Was his verbal assault enough to earn him the slap? Did I have the right to hit him? I can't decide. And seeing him cry seems strange and alien as I have never witnessed it before. Lately, I have almost come to believe he is wholly incapable of it. And yet here he is now. And I can't even understand why he is crying at all. I could not possibly have hit him that hard.

Either way, I cannot stand and watch. I kneel down next to him and cautiously put my hand on his shoulder.

"Dorian?"

"I'm sorry…" he says, wiping the tears away and visibly trying to compose himself. "I don't know why I just said that to you, it was horribly wrong of me."

"We are both to blame," I answer, surprised to find that I feel better after hitting him – more confident, less helpless. It doesn't seem right but there's nothing I can do about it. On impulse, my hand moves to stroke his hair. "You are right about one thing – I should be more vocal about my opinions. I did far from everything to prove my point to you. Perhaps because, like you say, while I was sure Harry was a bad example, I wasn't entirely certain I was a good one. The truth, as always, lies in the middle and maybe you will be the one to find it. Would that not be wonderful – to be both good and happy? And not boring."

He chuckles a little shakily.

"I'm starting to see that you are only boring when you want to be. I hardly recognize you today."

There is a pause. He turns his head slightly and suddenly his face is dangerously close, his breath on my cheek. An inch closer and I'll be kissing him. I move away with difficulty.

"Dorian, no, don't start that again."

His hand freezes a hair away from my neck and he sighs.

"I meant it this time. But I suppose there is no way to convince you of that."

I don't know what to answer. My whole body and soul want to believe that it's for real and all I have to do is let go. But my mind is still shouting warnings. Somehow I know that the semblance of control I have gained tonight is too frail and can be easily shattered. I get up. I need more proof that he is serious and I myself don't know what kind of proof exactly. But it's early, it's too early for me to say yes.

"Dorian, you'd better go and get some sleep. I'm sure you will feel better in the morning."

I don't want to send him away but having him near me is turning into too much of a temptation. He rises from the floor without a word and without looking at me. He is out the door before I can regret my decision.

I sigh heavily and sit in an armchair, picking up his forgotten glass and taking a sip. It's only my third drink this evening – not really enough to make me drunk. I don't know if I should be glad or sorry for that. I sit there for what seems like a long time, slowly emptying the glass. Rain starts drumming on the window. Then it turns into a storm. The heavier it grows the heavier my heart feels and a certain feeling of dread settles into my stomach. I glance at the clock and I'm astonished to see it has only been about twenty minutes since Dorian has left. Now that I have had some time to calm down, I am certain I should not have sent him away before getting answers, before drawing everything to some sort of conclusion. I feel that after this night the moment will be lost and I may never have another chance to clear the air between us.

I stand up abruptly and pick up my coat, ignoring the voice that tells me my plan to find Dorian again at this hour and in this weather is ridiculous. I manage to find a hansom with a little difficulty and it drives me to Dorian's house. I order the driver to wait and that turns out to be a wise decision because the sleepy servant informs me that the master has not come home at all. I get back into the hansom, feeling even more worried. What mischief could Dorian have gotten into at this time of the night? Where could he have gone? I contemplate simply going home but something won't let me. Did I not realize only an hour ago what a bad friend I was not keeping him out of trouble? I direct the driver to the poor parts of London. I only know a few of the places Dorian likes to visit but it's worth checking. I absently look out the window. Everything is blurry with rain and the wind shakes the cabin slightly. We pass near a graveyard and an image that passes before my eyes causes me to shout to the driver to stop. There is a lonely figure standing at one of the graves, wet coat flapping in the wind. I cannot be sure at this distance but when I jump out and enter the graveyard, with every step I am more certain it's the person I am looking for. I have only walked ten steps in the storm and I'm already soaked and freezing so I can't even imagine how cold he must be. Yet he doesn't move. He only turns when I call his name. I can't make out his expression in the dark. I run the last few steps and grab his arm.

"Dorian, what are you doing here? You'll catch your death!"

"I didn't want to go home and you didn't want me so I decided I should visit my fiancée."

I look down at the cheap tomb stone. Sybil Vane. Now at least I know why he's here.

"Only I don't think she wants me either," Dorian continues thoughtfully.

He sounds feverish. He probably is. What is going on with this boy? Is it all stress because of Sybil's death? And why did I not try to find out earlier? I start pulling him gently towards the hansom which is waiting just outside the gate.

"Come now, you must be freezing. Come, it's time to take you home."

"No!"

He wriggles free.

"Dorian!"

"I can't go home. I don't want to face him."

"Whom, Dorian? Face whom? Did you have a fight with someone?"

"Dorian Gray."

I stare at him for a moment but decide that now is not the time to try and decipher what he is saying. There are more pressing matters. I take off his coat which is soaked through and quickly drape my own around his shoulders. It's not quite as fashionable but it's warmer and much less wet. I try to guide him towards the hansom again.

"I'm not going home," he repeats.

I sigh. The idea of having him spend the night in my house is strange, uncomfortable and inappropriately exciting. But what can I do? I know Dorian at least this much – he won't be swayed.

"Very well then. We'll go to my house. Just please, let me get you out of the rain."

I don't mind getting myself out of the rain either. Without my coat on, I am chilled to the bone.

Inside the hansom he snuggles up to me, his head resting on my chest. I drape an arm around his shoulders and for the short duration of the journey despite being wet and shivering, despite the thunder and wind rocking the cabin, I feel fine.

Then we are in front of my house and Dorian gets off first. To my surprise he pays the driver before walking quickly to my front door. I hurry after him. Without the warmth of his body and under the cold rain again in nothing but my shirt and vest, I am once again freezing. I unlock the door and we enter the apartment together. I hang both of our soaking coats and he follows me into the spare bedroom.

"Here. You are welcome to spend the night but you must promise me we will talk in the morning. I hope you will be comfortable enough. I will fetch you a change of clothes. I'm afraid anything of mine will be too big for you but…"

"You should let yourself be disheveled more often," he says softly. "You look beautiful."

I turn around to find him standing inches away from me. He lifts a hand to my wet curls and messes them, a tiny smile playing on his lips. The words _'do that again'_ almost leave my mouth. I want to feel his fingers run through my hair once more.

"You don't give up, do you?" I say instead.

I have to leave this room now. I don't trust myself around him at this point. He has teased me one too many times tonight. I try to walk past him but he grabs my hand almost desperately.

"Basil, wait, I'm sorry!" He lets go just as suddenly, as if he has done something wrong. "I won't touch you again if you don't want me to. I won't say anything if it upsets you. But I swear, it was not an empty compliment, I meant it. Please, stay and keep me company…"

I stare into his eyes. No, he isn't acting. I have learnt to recognize his lies but the fear and desperation on his face are real this time. For whatever reason, he is genuinely terrified of being left alone. All traces of arrogance and cynicism have evaporated and I suddenly find myself facing the Dorian Gray from before, the boy I fell in love with. No amount of restraint can help me this time – I cannot tear myself away.

He is waiting for my reaction. I make two uncertain steps back into the room and sit on the bed, dropping my head in my hands.

"Oh, Dorian, Dorian. What shall I do with you?"

_What shall I do with myself_, I think a moment later, just before I feel his weight on the bed beside me. He doesn't dare do anything at first. Then he rests his hands on my back lightly, barely touching me. As I don't pull away, he draws me into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around my waist and his head coming to rest on my shoulder.

"You should change," I mutter irrelevantly. "You are still soaked."

"So are you," he replies quietly.

His hand moves from my waist to unbutton my vest but freezes uncertainly.

"Basil… Promise me you'll stay with me," he whispers in my ear. "Shout at me, slap me, insult me – everything that I deserve – but don't leave me alone. I don't know what's right or wrong anymore but if you can wrestle my soul from the Devil, it's yours. I'm yours. Such as I am. I know this is not what you wanted… You'll have to decide if you deem me worth saving now,"

I am shivering and I don't know if it's the wet clothes or the way Dorian is behaving. His voice has suddenly grown cold and distant with his last words. But at the same time he is holding me closer, almost as if he is trying on purpose to contradict himself.

"I am responsible for Sybil's death and for the ruin of more than one young girl," he continues icily. "I have treated everyone below me cruelly. I have treated you condescendingly. I have used my body as a bargaining chip and I was not ashamed of it. I'm not the ideal you painted anymore. Perhaps I never was. What do you say, Basil, can you love a creature such as this? The creature I am now?"

Listening to him, my heart has clenched so hard that it hurts. There is something very frightening, almost deranged in the way he speaks. I feel like he will try to strangle me any moment and I won't have the strength or the will to resist. Yet it's not the fear that is almost driving me to tears but my inability to come up with a way to help him, to help us both. I'm barely able to speak through the lump in my throat.

"You don't have to be anybody's ideal, Dorian," I whisper. "It was wrong of me to let you think so. You are and have always been Dorian Gray. That's enough for me to love you."

In the space of one breath nothing happens. Then his arms start trembling and his grip loosens. I feel small, quick kisses on the back of my neck. I finally turn around and I'm surprised to see that his face is soaked with tears. He has been crying during his whole monologue, yet his voice never wavered. He leans closer to kiss me on the lips again, a bit uncertainly, still afraid I might disapprove. I feel no need to stop him this time. Truthfully, I don't even have enough strength or resolve left to stop myself. I respond to the kiss; then my lips move to his neck and follow the path of my hands removing his still wet clothing. He shivers once the shirt is off. I quickly get rid of my own so I can pull him closer, keep him warm. My hand runs over the scars on his back.

"Oh, Dorian, if I could erase those…"

He freezes.

"The scars…" he whispers and I'm immediately sorry for bringing them up.

"I'm sorry," I begin, "I should not have…"

But he shakes his head and presses a finger to my lips.

"The scars are there, are they?"

I nod, unsure what's going on this time. His eyes search the room for something. A mirror, I realize when he looks over his shoulder and his gaze fall on the glass of the window. The storm is still raging outside and the complete darkness makes the image on the smooth surface very clear. He stares at the reflection of his own back for a moment. Then he looks down at his hand. I follow his gaze. There is a small scar there as well. It looks recent. Then Dorian manages to shock me completely by bursting into a fit giggles. I hardly know how to react to this, even after so many surprises tonight.

"Basil, oh, Basil, don't look at me like that. No, I am not mad. Or perhaps I am but it's all right. It's over! Oh, you don't know what you have done! Everything is alright now," he assures me somewhat more composedly, looking into my eyes with unadulterated happiness which is so contagious that I forget to be worried. Besides, I have no time for that because he pushes me down on the bed and starts kissing me again, anywhere and everywhere, with the enthusiasm of an overgrown puppy.

"Dorian, calm down," I laugh as I try to disentangle myself from the sheets. "Will you at least tell me what is going on? I don't understand anything."

"I'll tell you everything sometime. You will think I'm crazy but you already think that anyway, don't you?"

"At least half of the time."

"You think I'm crazy, you know I'm good for nothing and you'll still have me?"

"Yes. But I still don't under-…"

"You only need to understand two things," he interrupts me. "First, you are a beautiful, wonderful, talented person and everyone should be like you. Second, I love you."

My breath hitches. I honestly thought wanting to hear that would be too much.

"And I will never risk losing you again," he continues. "I have learned my lesson, before you and before God. And if you both forgive me…"

I pull him down for a kiss. Sometimes words are unnecessary.

**End Note:** And they lived happily ever after as I have never seen happen in any fic. Please take the time to review and keep in mind that I adore long reviews but will be grateful for a short one too. Have a lovely summer, everyone!


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